


Hands

by fromGallifreytoGallitep (sykira)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bad Flirting, Fluff, Garashir - Freeform, M/M, Medical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24191665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sykira/pseuds/fromGallifreytoGallitep
Summary: minific for Sigynpenniman who said "I kind of want a GOOFY AS F*** fic in which garak is doing something super, super fiddly and detailed either sewing or something really sweet like painting nails like that and asks Julian to help because he’s a surgeon and he needs to borrow his steady hands and general surgical precision for something silly."
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 16
Kudos: 86





	Hands

Julian looked up with a smile. “Garak! Everything alright?” 

Garak meandered into the infirmary with a casual air that could only mean he had a very specific purpose for being there.

“Hmm? Oh yes, doctor, of course. Just passing the time of day. Busy, are we?”

Julian grinned at him, delighted by his droll tone, and even more delighted just to see him without having to come up with some pretext to visit his tailor’s shop. They’d had lunch only yesterday but he already missed him. He let his eyes travel down Garak’s body, more slowly than he would normally get away with. “It’s your hand,” he concluded, mostly to himself.

Garak’s head tilted to one side, a little too quickly to maintain his unfazed demeanor. “My hand?”

“You’re holding it a little like you’re guarding. Did you thread your sewing machine too tightly again? You really should let me put some safety features on that thing.”

“And ruin my applique stitch settings? I think not, my dear doctor. But I do appreciate your most earnest concern.” He situated himself on a biobed at Julian’s behest, his eyes never leaving Julian as he ran a medical tricorder over Garak’s fingertips.

His eyes narrowed. “Another elaborate embroidered waistcoat for Ensign Tilyan?” As he spoke he threaded his fingers through Garak’s, just for a moment, on the way to slowly turning Garak’s hand palm-up then resting it in his own. 

He tore his eyes away from numerous pinprick wounds on Garak’s fingertips (his hand was warm, for once, but Julian saw no pressing need to let him go just yet). He looked up into Garak’s steady gaze, his mouth going dry at the depth of emotion in the other man’s eyes.

“Oh no. I’m afraid Ensign Tilyan has been much too preoccupied with his new Bajoran boyfriend to darken the door of my establishment,” Garak murmured. Julian’s hand tightened ever so slightly as he passed a dermal regenerator over Garak’s fingertips.

“A pity.” Julian knew his tone suggested it was anything but. “Tilyan was one of your best customers.”

Garak’s eyebrow raised and neither of them said anything for a moment.

“So, uh,” Julian cleared his throat. “How did you do this to yourself then?”

Garak’s shoulder slumped slightly and he rolled his eyes. “Sequins. Ghastly, shiny, sparkly, jubilant little nightmares.”

Julian smirked. “Sequins?”

“Quark wants the Dabo girls wearing something more distracting, apparently. I didn’t ask, I was too busy marking up my customization fees.”

“So you’re using a needle? Isn’t that a little old school even for you?”

“The bonder melts the blasted little things right into the Follyan silk.”

“Tholian?”

Garak slipped his hand from Julian’s and waved it dismissively in the air. “Quark would never spring for Tholian silk. Follyan is a cheap polyester knock off.”

“Ah.” 

“If I just had an extra hand to hold the slippery fabric tight then I daresay I would manage without further injury…”

“Well in that case, my dear Garak, in the interests of your medical welfare, as Chief Medical Officer of this station, I highly recommend you find someone to help you – someone with very steady hands.”

“Hmm…” Garak pretended to consider that, his eyes twinkling. “Someone like…a surgeon?”

“Indeed.”

There was a moment’s silence as they squared off. The corners of Julian’s mouth threatened to turn upward, but he managed to resist.

“Anyone with such skillful hands would surely be too busy, and if they did deign to huddle with me over a sewing machine for an afternoon in the decidedly cramped quarters of my tiny back room, however could I repay them?” Garak’s eyes lingered on Julian’s hands as he set down his tricorder with a decisive click, and leaned in.

“Perhaps whoever you find would be more than adequately compensated by dinner in your quarters tonight. I’m not sure you could manage to prepare a meal with such injuries.” Taking a breath, Julian picked up Garak’s now perfectly healed hand again, cradling it in his as he touched his fingertips to Garak’s.

If he hadn’t been so close to him he might have missed it as Garak caught his breath. It was the flimsiest excuse for anything he had ever uttered, but Garak didn’t look like he minded. At all. 

“Done,” he breathed.


End file.
